


Delicate Beginning Rush

by amygerrard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, post s3a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amygerrard/pseuds/amygerrard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek had to return to Beacon Hills at some point. He wasn't expecting anyone to care that he had been gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate Beginning Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Well, this is my first TW fic and I literally just wrote this in an hour. I really hope I wrote the characters true to themselves. The title is from Taylor Swift's 'Come Back, Be Here'. Enjoy!

Logically, he had known that leaving Beacon Hills was only temporary. There were simply too many loose ends for him to leave his hometown indefinitely. Still, it had been nine weeks. Three weeks of different roads, different towns and different states until they'd finally settled down. It had been Cora's choice, in the end, to stay in New York. He'd been resistant at first, not wanting to have traded one place filled with haunted memories for another just like it.

But New York was big. Big enough for him not to have to walk down familiar streets with an ache in his heart as a different sister's arm looped through his. So, yes, there were still memories and feelings of déjà vu but, for the first time in a long time, he was content. Not necessarily happy - he hadn't truly known that emotion since he was fifteen - but not the 'sourwolf' he had once been portrayed as. Cora, though, she was happy and smiling the same smile from their childhood and he found that was enough. She deserved to smile.

Week four was spent shopping, filling their rented apartment with everything they could ever need and nothing that held the pungent smell of smoke. Weeks five, six, seven, eight and nine passed in a blur. Cora went to school, coming home smelling of humans, delight and a particular musky scent which he hoped to God didn't belong to a boy.

He, on the other hand, had begun working. Not in the conventional, human sense of the word but, rather, he had begun to research. Cora had laughed at him when she'd first seen him set up at the kitchen island, frowning at the laptop on the counter, its black screen taunting him. He'd growled warningly, his blue eyes flashing, but had leaned back as she skimmed her fingers over buttons and keys.

It had taken some getting used to. Not the internet or the technology, that he had picked up easily, no, it was the endless stream of useless information he had to sift through that gave him problems. He'd thought it was easy, had never given S-  _him_  enough credit for his effort. Still, he'd persevered through the ramblings of people who -  _quite clearly_  - knew nothing about lycanthropy and the graphic images from people he  _wished_  were wrong about what they thought knew. (Cora was never going to let him live down what she liked to call the ' _Derek should knot be allowed on the internet_ ' incident.) His bestiary was coming along nicely, cataloguing creatures he'd encountered and ones he hoped he never would. It filled up his days but it was still there at the back of his mind, that little niggling of worry.

It had been easy to ignore at first, his brain overpowered by sheer confusion as he looked over site upon site. But as that got easier, not thinking about Beacon Hills didn't. A passing face in a crowd with an off-skew jaw, blonde curls surrounding a pale face that poked past his mother's shoulder and the shameless, non-stop chatter of two friends as they walked, arm-in-arm, down the street. He'd thought memories of Laura would haunt him here, not ones of  _them_. A pack he'd never really been a part of but one he'd never left.

He'd packed a bag one night. Nothing much, all of it moulding into the black insides of the bag except for one glimpse of two garish stripes. At the sound of keys in the door, he'd kicked it underneath the bed and gone to greet his sister, choosing to ignore the smell of teenage boy on her clothes and the red that stained her cheeks.

It was only four days later when he'd been staring at the bag, now perched on his bed, that she had spoken to him about _there_.

"You can go back, you know."

He'd blinked, exhaling loudly as he turned to face her. Looking at her, she seemed like the little kid he'd remembered her as. She'd been leaning against the doorjamb, a small smile on her face, before she'd stepped into his room and shoved him aside. She'd tipped the bag upside down, ignoring his confusion completely, and then begun folding each individual T-shirt and pair of pants. Soon, his bag was neatly organised in two columns of black. Her fingers had moved carefully, dropping the last shirt on the top in a splash of colour.

"I'll only be gone for a week, tops," he'd replied gruffly.

She'd reached for him then, squeezing his forearm tightly before letting go with a swing of her hand. "Sure," she'd smiled. The sound of the zip closing had echoed in the quiet of the apartment.

* * *

In the car, he told himself he'd imagined the disbelief in her voice when she'd uttered that one word.

* * *

The roads sped by, the light fading into the night until his headlights reflected off of the blue-and-white sign. His foot twitched, moving to hover over the brake but he ignored the impulse, instead choosing to accelerate and speed past the town limits.

_Welcome to Beacon Hills._

_Enjoy your stay._

God, he hoped this time he did.

* * *

His apartment looked exactly the same as he'd left it. He wondered where Peter had disappeared to for a fleeting moment before the need for sleep overtook him.

* * *

His sleep was restless.

The alarm was on every time he checked.

* * *

He couldn't deny, he'd thought about which teenager he'd encounter first. He had bet on Scott, only by chance when he would have checked in with Deaton about any news on the supernatural front. Even Isaac had been higher up on the list, on a whim that he would have been at the apartment.

He certainly hadn't expected to run into anyone at the grocery store at ten thirteen on a Tuesday morning.

* * *

What was the difference between lite and low fat, he wondered, frowning at the ready meals in his hands. He looked into the freezer once more, hoping beyond hope that some magical new information would have uncovered itself since his last glance ten seconds ago. He blamed his internal debate for not smelling him first and his frustration for not hearing the muttering about having to ' _come back to the freezer section when I don't even have a fricking jacket on, thanks a lot, Dad_ '.

The door to his arm jostled him from his reverie but the garbled apology ceased all thought.

"Sorry, man, I wasn't even looking and-"

_Stiles._

All pale skin, spatterings of moles and a quickly beating heart. His mouth hung open and Derek couldn't help but smirk and reach forward with the low fat packet, tilting it up until his jaw closed.

"Stiles," he nodded, throwing one of the ready meals into his basket and the other into the freezer. (He didn't care which was which.)

"Derek."

He blamed the freezers for the shiver that ran up his spine because it had absolutely nothing to do with Stiles' breathless whisper. Nothing. At. All.

"W-what are you doing here, dude?" he grinned, his head tilting to the side in wonder.

"I could ask you the same thing," Derek retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"Fall break, dude, you know. Halloween," Stiles whispered, wiggling his fingers in what Derek assumed was supposed to be an ominous way but just proved to be distracting.

"Right," he cleared his throat. "Well, I was just checking up on things. The apartment,  _local news_."

Stiles nodded in understanding but Derek hadn't missed the slight downturn of his lips. "And all of you."

His reaction was instantaneous, his lips pulling into a blinding smile and his amber eyes practically sparkling under the overhead lights. He seemed to catch himself, ducking his head and throwing a flailing arm over his head to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Derek's head jerked up, hearing the Sheriff's voice as he called for his son. Stiles looked behind him quickly and turned, noticing the empty aisle around them.

"I should-" he hooked his thumb over his shoulder, smiling tightly as he walked backwards.

"Yeah," Derek nodded, watching him leave, and turned back to the produce in front of him. The squeak of sneakers on linoleum brought his head up, just in time for him to watch Stiles tumble towards him. He caught the body instinctively. His arm, though, it tightened all on its own.

Stiles coughed, pulling back sheepishly. "I missed you, sourwolf." With a grin and a blush, he darted back up the aisle.

"Stiles," Derek smiled, watching the teenager's steps falter as he skidded to a stop and flicked a glance over his shoulder. "I thought I would have enjoyed the babble-less quiet more than I did."

The smile he received this time was different. It was no longer the full-toothed, tight lipped one he'd become accustomed to but rather, close-mouthed and soft and something else he couldn't quite grasp. His heart faltered when he realised what it was; this smile, the one Stiles was wearing, was so  _intimate_. One he'd never seen the teen wear before and so, it was  _his_.

The Sherriff's voice sounded once more, this time threatening to put two packs of bacon into the cart if Stiles didn't show his face in five seconds.

* * *

Stiles spent two of them staring at Derek.

* * *

Standing at the cash register, Derek watched as his items were scanned through but his mind was elsewhere, listening to the mindless chatter of a father and son. As he left the store with his bag of groceries, he realised that he might need longer than a week in Beacon Hills.

* * *

Cora sounded altogether too smug when he told her over the phone that night.


End file.
